


Our Earthly Pleasures

by luneur



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, F/F, Implied/Referenced Violence, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28737579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luneur/pseuds/luneur
Summary: This is it; this is everything they ever dreamt of. Fast cars and fancy hotels, and first class travel to wherever they desire, without answering to some self-serving authority. They have brought each other to the edge of death and back, to heady new thrills in a way no one else could, and Villanelle wants more. She always wants more.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Our Earthly Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selden/gifts).



They are somewhere along Champs-Élysées, where the sun hits low through newly leaved trees, and tourists linger with their phones out, desperate for an Instagram-worthy moment. Sad, boring little people. She walks past with a careless flick of her hair, and she can feel their piggy eyes roaming all over her, because she looks like a star – she looks _special_ – and so they perk up and feel a tad more alive for being in her orbit. 

She’s wearing the most fantastic dress from Dior in frothy pink tulle and velvet, with exquisite pearl embellishments, and she’s laughing. A high, tinkling sound. Nobody has to die today. She will not defile herself in the blood of a corrupt politician, or a corpulent old billionaire, or some volatile anarchist, half-mad with conspiracies. 

Today she is with Eve as they saunter towards Louis Vuitton – because Eve desperately needs to look less, well, _pedestrian_. And afterwards, there is Tiffany & Co., and perhaps a visit to a renowned café for a casually sipped coffee whilst perusing the day’s paper: _let’s see which lies are being peddled by the elite today._

The glass window of some on-trend, minimalistic boutique serves as an adequate mirror, and she stops and puts her arms around Eve’s tiny waist, nuzzling her thick dark hair, and whispers, “Let’s forget shopping and coffee; I want champagne.”

“Louis Roederer?” Eve suggests. “With wine that expensive, I don’t know what I’d prefer: pouring it all into the jacuzzi or smashing the bottles.”

“Smash the bottles – I like it when you’re angry. But we’ll have a toast first,” Villanelle says, “to our success.”

This is it; this is everything they ever dreamt of. Fast cars and fancy hotels, and first class travel to wherever they desire, without answering to some self-serving authority. They have brought each other to the edge of death and back, to heady new thrills in a way no one else could, and Villanelle wants more. She always wants more.

“You came into my life so fast, like a bullet, and stopped me still for some time. I was breathless. And nobody else… well, I haven’t felt that rush in a _long_ while. I haven’t, Eve. Tell me you feel it too?” 

Her eyes grow large. The ideas, the thoughts are coming to her in quick succession, like a hail of gunfire. 

“Oh, we’ll go to Spain. I feel like we need the sun. Two goddesses basking in the sun. Do you like Spain? Madrid, of course, naturally. We need music too, and a big apartment with a balcony. And we’ll have the best sex ever, right there.”

“You’re bored of Paris already?” she queries, not really keeping up with the fantasy. “I spent long enough hunting you down, I want to stop and savor the spoils.” 

Eve’s eyes are unblinking and watchful, still simmering with an aspect of defiance.

Sometimes she can’t read Eve, and that annoys her. She is a ghost, an unplaceable entity. Villanelle’s hands drop from Eve’s waist, and that’s when she notices in apparent horror: “Look – look at this,” she flashes her immaculate nails in front of Eve’s nose and spits, “that bitch at the salon forgot the gold leaf on this one. Can’t you see?”

Eve frowns and shakes her head.

“Can’t you see it, Eve? It’s not perfect and it should be. It’s not the way I wanted it to be. Come on.”

Now the day seems off somehow, as if she’s removed from it all. This is someone else’s day; a theatrical performance – a crude satire. There is only one thing that could improve it, give it an instant and incomparable boost: someone must die.

Villanelle can’t do it again. Never. She can’t go back to what she once was; a pawn in a deadly political game, controlled by soulless spies in suits. The thought of a knife or a gun in her hand is immediately repellent.

But there’s Eve now. Eve can.

She talks quickly, formulating an instant plan: “Do you remember that ugly old man at the Ritz? The one who ogled me as we left the dining room yesterday?”

“Yeah, what a complete dick,” Eve says, shaking her head.

“Why don’t we have some fun when we get back? You’ll invite him for a drink. No – you’ll go to his room.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“His name is Francis Beauvillier. He’s the CEO of a holding company and he’s very rich.”

She smiles to herself, gratified at how well-informed and knowledgeable she remains. Her training will never fully leave her. 

Eve raises an eyebrow: she’s interested. “How rich?”

“Rich enough to get us a _dream_ apartment in Madrid. But you’ll have to steal everything from him. You’ll have to poison him, Eve.”

She gasps incredulously. “You – you want me to kill him?”

“Did I say kill? No, no, it will just be a sleeping pill in his drink. Perfectly harmless,” she lies, her voice butter-smooth and as playful as a child’s. “Come on, some pathetic fat-cat desperate to make advances on any beautiful and unwilling woman? You think he deserves those riches? I don’t. But, I think _we_ do.”

Eve stops and looks at her in the spring sunlight, biting her lip. Villanelle sees the thought circulate in her mind, until Eve can help herself no longer: she smiles.


End file.
